


Varric's Leg Day

by IncessantCalibration



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncessantCalibration/pseuds/IncessantCalibration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a slightly over-exuberant, and alcohol-aided, acceptance of Bull's invite to Skyhold's gym, Varric starts to get second thoughts about joining the fearsome Qunari mercenary around the weights. And things don't get much better once he's there...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Varric's Leg Day

There were very few things that made Varric uncomfortable. Apart from the odd misjudged joke about red lyrium, or the eye-watering shade of canary yellow inhabiting Josephine’s arms, he always felt, like the rock walls of Orzammar, nothing much could get under his skin. However, after multiple drinks at the tavern with Bull produced a slightly too excitable acceptance to the Qunari’s invitation to the underground gymnasium the following day, Varric was feeling way too nervous.  
‘You don’t have to go,’ suggested Inquisitor Lavellan, studiously looking over reports at breakfast, ‘I’m sure the Bull would understand if you said you weren’t feeling ready, especially after last night.’  
‘Have you managed to miss the hulking mass of hangover that occupies that tavern, Elfie? Drinking is his necessary build up to training, which then leads to his charming ability to hurt things, which luckily for you, often carries on in to death on a massive scale out on the battlefield.’ Varric paused for a long moment as the Inquisitor tried to smuggle a smirk into her early morning brew. It just so happened, however, that the dwarf was familiar with smuggling.   
‘Unless…’ It was his tone that, in turn, made the Inquisitor equally nervous, ‘Just because you’re a girl and the Herald of Andraste, it doesn’t mean you couldn’t spend a bit of time around the weights with me? Surely the Maker didn’t bless you with unnatural ability to kill demons with a blunt object and not work out too?’  
The Inquisitor was about to blurt out some ridiculous lie regarding a picnic Jojo had set up for them in Skyhold’s snowy peaks, when, like a hunting dog, with a sense for begging dwarves, the Seeker appeared out of nowhere, leaned close over the smuggler’s shoulder and spoke coolly in his ear, ‘Looking for company, Varric?’  
The dwarf startled, as she moved slowly round the long table, slowly tracing her finger around the table’s surface, and finally settling down beside the Inquisitor. If Varric couldn’t handle Lavellan’s smirk, the grin emerging from Cassandra’s mouth was almost unbearable.  
‘NO! I mean, I don’t know what you mean Seeker, I was simply enquiring as to Elfie’s plans.’  
‘And yet you decided to go to the Herald, instead of me?’  
‘I knew you would be too busy with your application for Divine to warrant an invitation!’  
‘I have completed the appropriate paperwork.’  
‘Or checking up on Cullen?’  
‘He was fine earlier this morning.’  
‘What about the Cure for Tranquility!?!’  
‘Dorian said he would aid me this evening.’  
The auburn ponytail rose up limply, as Varric’s face hit the table surface. He knew when an argument with Cassandra wasn’t going anywhere.  
‘FINE. If you wish to come too, and get your yearly dose of laughing, I’ll be there soon.’  
‘Good.’ Cassandra rose to her feet, nodding to Lavellan as that insufferable smile grew once more across her scar lined cheek, ‘And wear thick armour, the Bull hits like a Druffalo on heat.’

To be fair to Cassandra, she wasn’t lying. The unmistakable sound of metal breaking metal could be heard from way up the staircase, as too could the gravelly shouts and grunts echoing up the stone walls. Varric shook his head as he descended deeper and deeper into what could have been considered his personal hell. Varric often enjoyed life on the outskirts, observing, writing, commenting, but never involving himself too centrally in the affairs of others. The image of several Inquisition guards watching his stout body go flying across the vast training circle, and ending up in a heap on the cold floor, with the cackles of a soldier he considered his peer ringing in his ears made the bard physically shiver. Just as he was considering how much time off he would be allowed if such a training injury did occur, Krem’s voice caught him suddenly, making him once again visibly jump. Twice in one day, the dwarf was beginning to worry about what had happened to his unflappable character.  
‘Beginning to think you weren’t turning up. Well luckily for you, he’s on a rampage today, we’ve had one broken arm and a couple of broken ribs already. It must be that time of month.’  
Varric was trying everything in his lyrical power to think up a good enough excuse to get out of there, when the ferocious, heaving Qunari mercenary turned on the spot, glared at the speechless dwarf and called out, ‘VARRIC!!!! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE. NOW!!’  
He somehow managed to reluctantly, but also swiftly, shuffle down the final few steps and into the shadow of the brutal figure, like a man being dragged to his death sentence. The dwarf was struck by the irony of spending most of his days in the Hanged Man pub in Kirkwall, and finally beginning to understand exactly what being a hanged man felt like. Eventually, some words tumbled out of his gaping mouth.  
‘How about we start on those heavy looking things.’ as he gesticulated to some odd-shaped, qunari-sized, implements intended to sculpt, shape, and in Varric’s case, squash, all those attempting to lift them. ‘They look… good?’  
The Bull boomed a laugh that sounded like it had migrated all the way from his toes.  
‘No! I started on those half an hour ago, we’re getting straight down to the good bit,’ a glimmer shone in his single eye, ‘the sparring,’ followed shortly by a childish grin which strangely suited his jutting, enormous face.  
Once more, before Varric could employ his tongue to get out of this spiralling nightmare, the Bull had grabbed a shield off the nearest guard, thrust it onto Varric forearm, and taken hold of a crude, blunted mace. The first blow, Varric knew nothing about. The speed of the Qunari was remarkable, particularly since the rogue had seen him as a heavy thing, the only weakness appearing to be his mobility. The following blow, Varric witnessed, but again failed to avoid. Now starting to wind up, like a child’s spinning top, the Bull spun and pivoted, never taking his eyes of his stocky, paralysed prey. Just as things couldn’t get any worse, with a tremendous roar and all his size, the huge, hulking Tal-Vashoth went to strike down on the cowering, shielded turtle below. The gathered crowd gasped as the echoed war cry rebounded off the walls. Even Cassandra flinched as the size of the Qunari rose above the small frame of the dwarf, and for a split moment empathy crept in. However, as all the sinews in his shoulders and arms strained and released his energy downward, the silence betrayed the execution of the blow. Cassandra turned back after looking away at the pivotal moment to see the Bull hovering the mace inches from Varric’s shield. Lightly turning the shield over with the dull edge of the mace, he grinned as he saw the shock engrained on Varric’s face. The dwarf had seen enough smirking for one day.  
‘Good job, my friend,’ said the Qunari.  
Varric was scarlet red in his cheeks, not sure whether to be embarrassed by the vision of all the amassed guards seeing him cower under a fake blow or because the Bull was now treating him like his little gym project. Just as he was about to unleash a stinging flurry of words, the Bull, after making his way to the far wall, turned with Bianca and another smaller crossbow in his iron grip.  
‘Care to show me how this works? You were good enough to try out my field, now let’s see yours. Cassandra has even promised me she’d be the moving target.’  
The dwarf could feel the blood leave his face as quickly as it had arrived, and suddenly his collected exterior returned like a welcome friend.  
‘Seeker?’ Varric swivelled on the spot in time to see Cassandra make a grab for the far door handle. It was his turn to smile.  
‘I hope you’re feeling lucky.’


End file.
